Words
by catofawesomeness
Summary: It was too much. The words hurt, they really did. The pressure on America's shoulders finally causes him to break. WARNINGS: Self harm in the form of cutting, suicide, eating disorder, depression. If you have problems with any of these, I urge you to find another story. If you have depression or self harm or are thinking of suicide, please find a trustworthy adult to talk to.
1. Chapter 1

**HI! New story! This time 1p FACE family and broken hearts all around! Yes, I am working on my other stories. I was busy last week because we took a class trip to Washington D.C. It was a lot of fun until the bus broke down and we were stranded somewhere in central Virginia for three hours. I live in Alabama so we took charter busses. You know, the big smelly things they use for touring. It was fun. Except I am not used to snow at all and there were four inches of it on the first day. So I was freezing my butt off. **

"Stupid fatass." America heard someone mutter as they passed him on their way out of the meeting room. Inwardly, he flinched but he continued his conversation with Canada as if nothing had happened. But, under the surface, he was willing his mask to stay on. Desperately trying to keep his walls up. After a hasty goodbye to a slightly confused Canada, America started to walk down a completely unused hallway. No one had any reason to be here but him. He looked at the celling and saw that old trap door. The one that lead to the Attic. It wasn't really an attic. Rather a crawl space between the first and second floors of the meeting building that he used to eavesdrop. He pulled the string and the rickety old latter feel out. Good thing he was hosting the meetings this year. Every year the host country rotated. Last year had been Canada, this year it was him. After an overheard conversation about him between Canada England and France, he decided to bug the entire building. Just with microphones. He had put them everywhere. The meeting rooms, the bathrooms, the hallways. The unused rooms like storage closets. Everywhere. He was crawling up into that crawl space because that's the only way he could reach the hallway microphones. Some of the things those mics picked up were not meant for innocent ears. Some of them overheard conversations that positively made him feel like his heart was being ripped out and stomped on and then being left to slowly bleed out on the cold, hard ground. One day back a long time ago, he heard a conversation between England, France and Canada that made him cry for weeks.

_"Why do we even put up with him?" England asks France "He's so lazy and stupid. I don't see how a man like that could have any use at all." Canada makes a noise in affirmation. America, who was hiding in a nearby closet felt as if he had a knife sticking out of his chest. Their words stabbed him. Cutting deep into his soul, making him feel like he was bleeding on the inside. _

_"You're right," France said "He's so annoying. Always shoving that disgusting, greasy food in his face. He'll have a heart attack on of these days." America felt silent tears start to dribble down his face. That was his **family** talking about him. The people who he thought loved him and cared about him. If he didn't have them, who did he have? _

_"You're right." Canada said, speaking up for the first time, since the start of the conversation. America flinched, of all the people he never thought would think lowly of him, Canada was at the top of the list. Canada always visited him when he had a day off, was always willing to talk to him and listen to him when no one else was. "He can be such a disgusting person. There are times when I wonder if I'm even related to him or not. "_

_England laughed "There are times when I wonder if he's even human." America clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle the sobs he was sure would come bursting past his lips. He took his glasses off to keep them from being covered in tears. He managed to remain silent as his family continued to speak of him in ways he never thought they would. Once they left, America dried his tears and tried to make it look as if he hadn't been crying at all. The meeting building was deserted by then. America walked into the sunlight, but stayed stuck in the darkness. Words floating around his head, stabbing his heart over and over again_

After that day, that conversation that had broken him, America bugged the meeting building. Every. Single. Room. And after that, began hearing other countries make remarks similar to those of his family at almost every meeting. That little incident with his family was nearly three years ago. And it was his turn to host the meetings again. This was the last meeting of the month, so everyone would be flying home either today or tomoroow. He had started to try to live up to their expectations. He took note of what they said and even went so far as to write it all down in his diary. He started eating less and exercising more. He spent more time working out than he did sleeping. He started getting his paperwork turned in on time and even early when he could manage it. He stopped playing video games, and only ate foods he deemed to be healthy. Which was hardly anything anymore.

But he wasn't happy.

He was never happy anymore. He never enjoyed anything in his life anymore. Nothing was good in the world anymore. There was no light, nor love. Who could love someone as disgusting as him anyway? No one he knew. And the remarks just didn't stop. Eventually, over time, he started to cut back on food so much, he was only one meal a week. He was sleeping three hours a night and even starting to limit his water intake. He cried himself into the three hours of light sleep he got every night and they were always plagued with nightmares about his friends and family laughing and taunting him until he woke panting and in a sweat only to realize it was a nightmare. But it was so real! They were probably talking about him right now. Laughing at his faults, saying how much they hated him. The razor was his new best friend. Silver and sharp it cut into his arms, legs, stomach, ribs, anywhere there was room deep, red blood seeping from wounds poorly bandaged because he didn't care. Never quite cutting deep enough to kill, although he had thought about it. He was just a stupid worthless man. What would they care if he ended his life? But he knew the odds of being able to successfully kill himself were slim. He was a country. But event through all of this, he had to be making some progress, right? He had to be getting somewhere. Eventually, he started missing meetings because He couldn't find the strength to stand up after a long day of constant exercising the day before.

That's when people started to notice. It started with Canada who had been feeling that something was wrong with his brother for a long time now. He tried calling ahead of his visit, but only got his brother's voicemail. He was worried now. America always picked up his phone. He left a message, packed his stuff and got in his car to drive to the airport. Once there, he got on a one way flight to D.C. There was no telling how long he would need to be there if there was something seriously wrong with America. He had called France and England and told them about his concerns. They had told him to call them once he got to America and seen whether he was okay or not. After being sexually assaulted by the airport security, he boarded his flight to Washington. After takeoff, he put his headphones on and fell asleep listening to soft music, relaxing his mind, and calming him down.

**Well, I should have fun with this. Also, Why me? Is ending soon. I'm sorry. I don't want to end it, it's my baby, but I'm running out of ideas. :/**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I imagine there is going to be some confusion to anyone who has read my other stories about depresses!2p!America. My headcanon is that they're both depressed, they just deal with it differently. Now, I expect this story to be short. A lot shorter than my others. Like seven chapters maybe. Or it could just be a two or three shot.**

**I don't own Hetalia**

America way lying in bed, staring at the celling with glassy, dull eyes. Words flew around his head, stabbing him, tearing him apart. His soul hurt with every word his mind screamed at him.

"Fat ugly stupid worthless alone pathetic lazy liar retard slut whore gross scum disgusting useless mistake weird dork nobody jerk loser nerd retard weak unloved." His mind recited again and again and again. He rolled over to face the wall, closing his eyes, a single tear dripped out landing on the dirty sheet he hadn't bothered to change in months. Those words were all true, weren't they? He had heard each of those words said about him at least once through the hidden microphones. They wouldn't say those things if they weren't at least partially true would they? It was true that some nations could be pretty mean at times, but America didn't think they would be lying about this. More tears feel from his eyes at the thought that they all must be true. There was no getting out of it. He got off the bed suddenly, tears falling down his cheeks and onto the cold, hard floor, he ran toward the bathroom and closed the door louder than he meant to. He plunged his hand in the drawer to look for his best friends. The only ones able to relieve him of the pain inside his soul. His hand soon grabbed an old black glasses case. He only used it when traveling, and it had enough room to hold more than glasses. He pulled it open to reveal a collection of old pencil sharpener blades, box cutter blades, and other small razors. He grabbed a pencil sharpener blade and pulled up the long sleeve of his white t-shirt and pressed the blade to his skin…

Canada paid the driver and got out of the taxi. He didn't have much with him, he planned to wash the cloths he had with him if he had to. This resulted in only needing a backpack and a duffle bag. He looked at America's house and was a little surprised to see the lawn overgrown. His brother usually took fairly good care of his lawn, cutting it and watering it when necessary. Usually it looked pretty nice. Canada was concerned now. This wasn't like America at all. First not answering the phone and now not taking care of the lawn. He walked up to the front porch and rang the bell.

America was just finished cutting 'unloved' into his arm when he heard the doorbell. He panicked and wiped his tears, tried to stop the bleeding, and dropped the blade. Unfortunately, he forgot it on the sink counter and forgot to wipe the blood off the floor. He then hurried to the door. He didn't notice that his arm hadn't stopped bleeding. His attempts to stem the blood flow had been futile. He hurried down the stairs as fast as he could in his weakened state and pulled the door open.

Canada took in his brother's appearance with growing shock that he kept well hidden. America was wearing a long sleeve shirt and sweatpants that hung off him baggily. He then looked at his wrist… _no..._His brain stopped working. No, America wouldn't do something like that to himself. No nonono. He wouldn't. After a few seconds he registered his brother's voice.

"Canada? Hey, bro, wake up." America looked at him with blue eyes that were noticeably duller.

"Oh, sorry." Canada said shaking his head. "I just came to see how you've been doing. You didn't answer the phone and I got kind of worried." _Worried_ Now it was much worse than worry that Canada felt for his brother. It was all out pain.

"I'm fine." America said "Come inside. I wasn't really expecting anyone, so the house is a bit of a mess." He turned around and walked inside with Canada trailing behind. He couldn't hold it back any longer. He had to ask him.

"America. What happened to your arm?" He asked hoping, _praying_ it wasn't what he thought it was. America's eyes went wide for a moment before he looked franticly down at his arms. Of all days to wear a white shirt. The frantic look on his brother's face was all it took for Canada to realize what had happened. America looked at him with frantic, scared blue eyes for a moment but looked away again once he saw the realization that dawned on his brother's face. Canada reached out and took his brother's arm gently. Much more gently than it had been handled in a long time. America just let him, keeping his eyes trained on the floor by his feet. Canada pushed the sleeve up, terrified of what he already knew he would see under the bloodstained cloth. However, knowing it was there didn't stop the shocked gasp that escaped his lips or the tears that began to flow down his face as he saw cuts. Old ones, new ones, all kinds of cuts. On both sides of America's arm. The most recent ones, which were clearly still bleeding spelled out 'unloved' in all caps. Before Canada knew it, he was hugging his brother.

America flinched when he heard Canada gasp, he felt a hand trace lightly over his arm, gently touching cuts. Old, new and everything in between. He felt Canada's thumb wipe some of the blood away from the new word on his arm and suddenly, He was being hugged to his brother's chest tightly. Canada's arms had snaked their way around his back and were pressing him close. What? Why was he hugging him? Didn't his brother hate him? America was confused. Didn't you only hug people you loved? Or at least cared about?

_'But what if he does love you?'_ A voice asked him. Eyes tearing at the thought, America wrapped his arms around Canada tightly and started crying silently into his shoulder. Shivering and tears streaming down his face. Upon feeling wetness on his shoulder, Canada pulled his brother closer and started taking to him in a low, soothing voice.

"It's okay…You're going to be okay...It's alright, now, I've got you…I love you… I'm going to help you…You don't have to be alone anymore… I love you…" America began to slowly calm down, until he was just sniffling into his twin's shoulder.

"I didn't think anyone loved me." He said softly. Canada pulled him closer, almost crushing him.

"No. Don't say that. Don't ever say that. I love you. England loves you. France loves you. You are loved, America." Canada said, voice firm, the only steady thing in America's world at this point. Funny how with just a few, firmly spoken words, Canada managed to outscream the lies that America's mind had forced upon him.

**RIOSEHIODSAJFLDKSAFJKDSAF I STEPPED ON MY FEEEEEEEEEEEEELS! AAAAAAAAUGHDOSJKFDKLJFOAJFKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA *flails spastically and cries in a corner* So, I was listening to Red Sam by Flyleaf while writing the breakdown-in-Canada's-arms scene. It's so fitting for this chapter and will be for the next chapter too I suspect. **

**Review if you want. You don't have to but I'd love it if you did**


	3. Chapter 3

**More fluffy angst! I hope you guys like this story. This is the first time a story of mine has ever gotten this popular this fast. I also got a Tumblr and started posting my stories there too. Same username that I have on this site. **

**I don't own Hetalia**

Sometime during the heart-wrenching hug and cry session, Canada had pulled his brother over to the sofa and America had fallen asleep on him. Canada looked down at America's arm still covered in blood, and gently set his sleeping brother down on the couch. He found the first aid kit and noticed with a heavy heart that it was very low on bandages. That scared him. How long had this been going on? He could only tell so much from the scars on his brother's wrists. And for all he knew, there could be cuts on other parts of his body as well. He went back to his brother and cleaned the lint and dirt out of the cut, causing America to wake up, but he didn't stop him. He bit his lip as so many fresh cuts were hit with the alcohol, but didn't protest, just kept his other arm draped over his forehead as Canada gently cared for his injured arm. After finishing, Canada pulled his other arm off his head and pushed the sleeve up. America just let him, blank eyes staring at the celling with no emotion. Canada flinched upon seeing the words 'worthless' 'fat' 'stupid' and 'lazy' carved into both sides of his arm among regular cuts of all shapes and sizes that didn't spell anything. Just like the other arm. They were barely scabbed over, and covered in dirt and lint and he didn't want to know what else. He doused a cotton ball in alcohol, and rubbed the area gently. America bit his lip as the new scabs were pulled off and alcohol hit the blood. Canada kept wiping the area down until it was completely clean and no longer bleeding. He then wrapped bandages around it just like he did with the other arm. Since America had cut up his arm all over, not just on the inside part with the vain, Canada had to wrap gauze all around the arms. He put a gentle hand on America's shoulder.

"America, I need to know. Have you been cutting anywhere else?" Canada asked softly. America looked at him with wide blue eyes and sighed, looking down.

"I've been doing it pretty much everywhere." He muttered. "Stomach, upper arms, shoulders, thighs everywhere. Just like the forearms." Canada felt like crying but held it together. His arms were in horrible condition, pale from lack of blood with cuts covering the skin all over. Not just words but some were just slashes across the skin.

"I need to see them." He said softly. "So I can clean and bandage them." America sighed, and stood up, walking toward his bedroom. Canada followed, knowing he would want to do this someplace more private. Once they were in America's room, America took his shirt off carefully so he didn't disturb the cuts. Canada gasped softly when he saw what his brother had done with himself. His ribs stuck out painfully, there were cuts spelling out 'lazy' 'retarded' 'useless' 'alone' 'pathetic' on his ribs and stomach. There were three cuts in particular that didn't spell anything but the scars were puffy and purple as if the cut had been badly infected and never treated. Canada held back the tears as he took in the cuts along the upper arms, chest, stomach, ribs and saw more poking out on his hips. America turned around and Canada saw more on his back.

"How did you get them on your back?" He asks, genuinely curious about how his brother manage to achieve that feat. They didn't spell anything and looked messier than the ones on the front of his body.

"There was a nail sticking out of the wall in the shed." America answers. Voice sounding dead. "I got cut on it once by accident, and it triggered something." Canada looked worried. He was risking Tetanus by not cleaning these. As if reading Canada's mind, America answered. "Don't worry. I just got a Tetanus shot in January. I should be fine." That did nothing to appease Canada's worry for his brother's health as he began to clean and bandage the cuts. After finishing, America put on a clean T-shirt. It was short sleeved but neither brother really cared at this point. They both knew.

"Before we start on your legs, I need to go get more bandages and stuff." Canada says. "This first aid kit is almost completely empty." America nods.

"Go ahead. I'll wait here." Canada nods and hugs his brother close to him again before going out to his car. Once inside, he lets the tears pour down again. He pulls out his cell phone and presses England's number.

England was about to eat dinner when his cell phone started vibrating in his pocket and made him accidently throw the pot of burnt…thing across the room. It hit his cat who promptly skittered across the room, howling because some of it got in the poor cat's mouth. The cat ran into the door and quickly turned around and started running the other way. It then ran into England who was about to answer the call, and knocked him over. Then the smoke alarm started going off. England, who had had about all he could take today, retreated outside, to answer the call.

"Hello?" He asked. Voice sounding stressed

"England. It's me, Canada." Canada's voice still had tears in it, he sounded heartbroken.

"Canada, are you okay? You were going to check on America, right? Is he okay?" England asked sounding worried.

"I'm *sniff* fine. America's not. He's cutting himself, England. And I think he might have an eating disorder." England's eyes went wide he stumbled back and his back hit the house. In the background, his cat was still trying to get the taste of the burnt thing England was about to eat for dinner out of its mouth.

"H-he's what?" England asked, voice sounding shocked. No, that was ridiculous. America loved himself. He wouldn't do that. He would never do something like that. No, this must have been some kind of sick joke. No no no no no.

"You need to get over here." Canada continued. "He's a mess at this point. He doesn't think any of us love him or-or care about him." Canada sniffled before sobbing a little more.

England quickly composed himself before answering Canada. "Just take care of him. I'm going to call France. We'll be over there as soon as we can. By tomorrow at the latest."

"Please hurry, England. He needs you." Canada said before hanging up. England dropped the phone before letting his back slide down the side of the house. He landed on his but in the dirt. He shook his head. No, America was always happy. He wouldn't do something like this. But what if he would? The boy could be unpredictable. Hell, he was always unpredictable. England called France and told him about Canada's phone call. France couldn't believe it either. It was just so hard to believe. That someone so strong could hurt like that.

**We will have more fluff next chapter, guys! **


	4. Chapter 4

**More sadness and stuff. I think I'm going to go more into the eating disorder aspect during this chapter. While listening to ridiculously depressing music! Yay! **

**I don't own Hetalia**

Canada drove to the nearest pharmacy and bought everything he would need to take care of America during the time he would be there. Which was as long as it took. He had told his boss he was going to visit his brother and his boss didn't have a problem with it. Canada planned to email him tonight and tell him that he had to stay for a while. He grabbed the bags and went back out to his car. He would stay and take care of his brother for as long as he needed to, if that was ten years, then so be it. He could just wash the cloths he had with him and if necessary, his boss could send him the paperwork he needed to do. He pulled into America's driveway and wondered what England and France were going to say when they saw his condition. Canada couldn't help but wonder just what had caused this. Was it something someone said or did to him? He wouldn't make America tell him until he wanted to. His brother was sill to fragile right now. He got out of the car and was walking back into America's house when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out. It was a text from England saying that he was about to board the plane and would be there in a few hours. He got a text from France soon afterward telling him pretty much the same thing. But mentioning that England had called him. Canada sighed, happy that they would be willing to jump on a plane at such short notice to help him and his brother. He knew they were busy and it was a long, uncomfortable flight across the Atlantic. He walked inside and went back to America's bedroom, and saw him sitting in bed with his computer open, scrolling through something. (*cough cough* Tumblr *cough*) America closed the computer when he saw his brother, and took his sweatpants off, leaving him in only his boxers. Canada put the bags of medical supplies on the bed, and turned to face his brother with a cotton ball already doused in alcohol in hand. He paled upon seeing America's legs but held it together. The words on his legs spelled out 'liar' 'weird' 'annoying' 'pathetic' 'selfish' and 'scum' Canada swallowed the hard lump in his throat and started to carefully clean and bandage the legs. His brother truly had mutilated himself. After properly cleaning and bandaging his brother, America pulled on some gym shorts and Canada threw away all the dirty cotton balls and put the extra supplies in first aid kit which was still downstairs. America followed him down.

"How long?" Canada asked while putting the supplies away. America looked at his feet again, blue eyes looking hurt.

"About three years." America said quietly. Canada looked at his brother with wide eyes. "You probably want to know why, don't you?" America asked. More of a statement than a question. Canada nodded, numbly. America stood up, left the room and came back with his diary. He sat next to his brother, and flipped it open to the entry he had written three years ago when he first overheard that conversation. As Canada read, his eyes filled with tears as he read America's account of that day. When he had finished, a tear fell from his eye and onto the paper, making the ink run. He closed the book with shaking hands, and latched onto America again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He said softly. America wrapped his arms around his brother, softly. As Canada sobbed into his shoulder repeating "I'm sorry" Over and over again.

"It's okay. I forgive you. You've shown me that you love me, you convinced me that I'm loved, so I forgive you." America told him, wrapping his heavily bandaged, boney arms around his brother. Canada continued to cry.

"This is my fault." He cried, voice sounding broken. "I made you like this. I drove you to this."

"That doesn't matter anymore." America told his brother softly. "I know what it's like to have someone hold a grudge against you for a long time, and it hurts, so I forgive you." Canada cried harder. He didn't deserve America's forgiveness. He knew that. It was painfully obvious.

"I don't deserve it." He sobbed out painfully.

"That's not why I'm doing it." America told him firmly. "I'm forgiving you because you're helping me, because I want to, because it would hurt both of us more if I didn't, and because now, I can see that you would do the same for me." That only made Canada cry harder, because he couldn't say for sure if he _would_ do that for someone else. For America, maybe, but still. Why did his brother have to be such a selfless person? Even if he didn't think he was if the words carved in his leg was anything to go by. They stayed there, faces buried into each other's shoulders for several hours, and then, the doorbell rang. Canada untangled himself from his brother who had fallen asleep on him. He opened the door to reveal England and France who looked frantic like they had been running

"Canada!" England and France both started speaking rapidly at the same time. Both saying something along the lines of "Where is he?! Is he okay?!"

"He's in the living room." Canada said in a hushed voice "He's sleeping right now. France, if you want to make dinner, go ahead. It's nearly seven and neither one of us have eaten yet." France nodded and Canada lead England to the living room where he nearly began to cry upon seeing his brother, lying across the couch, covered in bandages. That's right. England still felt like America was his brother. He had never stopped feeling that way. He saw him differently than he had back in the 1700s when they lived under the same roof, but still as a brother none the less. "If you and France want to change his bandages tomorrow, so you can see everything, you can." Canada said, hair covering his eyes. England nodded numbly, walking over to America and sitting across from him on the coffee table. He gently took his hand, and his thumb started rubbing soft circles in the callused knuckles.

"Do you know why?" England asked Canada, looking at him with pleading, green eyes. Canada picked up the diary and opened it to the page America showed him. He pushed it toward England. Tears began to flow down England's face as he read what America had written. "So this is our fault…" He said, sounding heartbroken. "We did this to him." Canada swallowed. He didn't want to believe it either, but it was true, wasn't it? They _had_ done this to him. The smell of whatever France was making began to drift to the living room and America woke slowly. "America, are you alright?" England asked. America yawned.

"Hey, Iggy." He said and suddenly looked nervous "Um, why do I smell food?"

"Oh, Francis is making dinner." England told him. Upon seeing America's nervous look he added

"You don't have to eat the whole thing. Just enough so your body gets used to food again." He told him America still didn't look too happy. Canada spoke up.

"America, you have to eat. Please." He said, sitting down on the arm of the couch next to America's head. America sighed through his nose

"Fine," He said, head bowing so his hair covered his eyes "I'll eat something."

England put a hand on his shoulder "It doesn't have to be much, remember." He said, trying to be reassuring. America made a noise in the back of his throat. England and Canada exchanged glances. This was going to be harder than they thought.

**So, I go back to school tomorrow (I was on spring break.) And I have one more week of soccer left before our season is over and in that week we are cramming in two make up games and a tournament. BLAH! WHAT IS MY LIFE?! And I was out because of a hip injury which is NOT HELPING! So, life kinda hates me at the moment, so updates might be delayed until I can get this hellish week over with. And my teachers have a bad habit of throwing a million tons of homework on us the week we get back from a break. They really don't care if I have a life outside school. So I'm bracing myself for a WHAT IS MY LIFE week starting tomorrow. Just thought I'd let you know updates might be delayed. **


	5. Chapter 5

**So, Last week I got hit in the face with the ball during our last game of the season and may or may not have a concussion, so I don't know if this writing is actually going to be any good or not. The good news is that soccer season just ended for us (We have a short season only about two months long.) And I will be updating hopefully on a weekly basis again. If not more often. I'll try to type during study hall or boring classes if I can. I mean, if I can get away with it. I usually can. But lucky for you guys the next time I'll be ridiculously busy will be during exams which happen sometime in May.**

**I don't own Hetalia**

America sat at the window seat in the living room, looking out into the darkness of the night. Canada and France had already turned in for the night and England was sitting at the kitchen table. America thought back on all that had happened in that day. He couldn't hold a grudge against them, any of them. He just couldn't do it. Especially when they had shown so much love for him; Love he wasn't used to and concern for his well being since they had found out. It still hurt and it would take a long time to completely rewire his brain to know that he was loved and cared about, but he could do it in time. Part of him wasn't sure he wanted to be healed. Part of him didn't want to get better, and that concerned him. He knew it would worry his brothers more, however, so he kept it on the inside and didn't let them know although he knew they would find out eventually. France had taken his razors and cleaned up the blood from that morning, although he had thrown up while doing so. After dinner, he had asked America for the blades and he told him where they were, France took them and America presumed he got rid of them somehow but couldn't be sure. After he took a shower, England had replaced his old bandages, France not wanting to empty his stomach again, saying he would do it tomorrow. He could see the hurt in those green eyes, but chose not to say anything, just keeping his eyes trained on the floor in shame, allowing England to dress the cuts. Canada had pounded the nail in the shed until it was so bent he couldn't use it anymore. They began to use every precaution they could to insure that he wouldn't start cutting again. Everything, they hid the knives and forks, got rid of his blades, changed his bandages twice a day, even started making him cut his nails until he couldn't use them as tools. They never left him alone for a second, moving him into a room with two beds and taking turns staying with him through the night. America thought about all this while staring into the night, and was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't hear England walk up behind him and didn't notice him until he put a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

"It's getting late, you should go to bed." England said gently, America complied and allowed himself to be lead upstairs by gentle hands. After he was settled, England laid down in the other bed. Several hours passed but as usual, America couldn't sleep. He lay awake, same thoughts drifting around his head, making it impossible to sleep. Same feelings of hatred for himself and worthlessness he had felt a thousand times before that lead to sleepless nights where he cried alone, feeling unloved. England could seemingly feel something wrong with him, however, and got up and went over to him, sitting down next to his head. America reached up, wrapping his arms around him. England held him, carefully, rubbing his bandaged back gently.

"It's okay. You're going to be fine." He said softly, running his hand through America's soft hair. It was noticeably thinner. Another sign of malnutrition. America pushed closer, burying his face in England's chest, before England shifted so he was sitting with his back against the headboard with America's upper body in his lap. "You're going to be fine. We'll take care of you. Don't worry." He felt tears seep through his shirt and pulled America closer. "It's okay. I'm right here. Don't cry. Please, don't cry." After about a half an hour of America crying softly into his chest, cried himself to sleep, but now, it was England who couldn't sleep, holding America close to him. It hurt him to know how much America was hurting. America was normally such a strong person, he seemed able to take anything life threw at him which was a lot. He had to be. But something had happened and he had fallen. Not his country but Alfred as a person. England was exhausted, finally letting the jet lag he had been feeling since he got there take over, he leaned his head back against the headboard and slept, America held securely in his arms.

The next morning, America woke first. It was about 10:00. He decided to just lay there for a while. He still felt like crap. After about an hour, he got up and went downstairs where he could smell Canada making breakfast. He wandered down the stairs still in the sweatpants and t-shirt he had slept in. He walked into the kitchen. Canada smiled when he saw him, and gave him a plate with a small amount of food. During breakfast France and England came down into the kitchen. After all four had eaten, France took him to the bathroom to change bandages. France ended up breaking down and glomping America while crying once he saw how badly he had hurt himself. It was the first time he had broken down since finding out. America guessed it hadn't really dawned on him until now just how bad it was. He had read the entry last night and it had hit him like a slap in the face but it must not have really dawned on him how bad things were until he saw the damage first hand. England and Canada heard the breakdown and came running in just as France fell into America's arms, making him cry out softly as pressure was applied to hundreds of sensitive cuts, successfully making France cry harder. Now, France's hands were gently flittering over the cuts all over his body with tears streaking down his face. Eventually, he managed to collect himself enough to bandage America's torso at least. Canada lead him away to try and calm him down, leaving England to clean up the old bandages and replace the ones on America's legs and hips. America who had been standing there in shock and silence for the most part since the breakdown started finally spoke.

"Sorry." He said still looking shocked. England sighed, as he bandaged his calf.

"He'll be okay." He said, looking into America's eyes reassuringly "Once I'm done, do you want to go check on him?" America nodded wordlessly and after England was done bandaging his legs they both got up and followed the sound of France sobbing to find him curled up in the living room with Canada who was also crying at that point. America sat down next to France who looked up with a tearstained face only to hug America firmly, being careful not to press too hard on the cuts again. France sobbed out desperate apologies while Canada rubbed his back from behind and America tried to support him without putting pressure on his cuts.

"I-it's okay, France. I'm fine now, I'm going to try not to do it again and I have you guys here now." America said in a semi-shocked voice. It had been a long time since he had seen France have a major breakdown like this. But trying to reassure him that he was okay did nothing to calm France's desperate apologies. England sat down next to Canada and sighed. There was so much stress and on one little family. One little messed up family. What did they do to deserve this? What did they do? What did America do to deserve this?

**Wow. It seems like someone turns on the waterworks every five minutes in this story. I'm going to try to stop that but what can I say? I love tooth-rotting fluff. So I'm glad I finally got to update and writing updates will happen a lot more often now that I have some free time on my hands (HAHA! FREE TIME! I crack myself up!) No seriously, I plan on updating all my stories more often. Including the cutting!2p!America one. That might be updated tomorrow? I think? Maybe? **


	6. Chapter 6

**Yep. More updates Even though I'm in Spanish class. I really don't care anymore. I really don't. I will be typing this during Spanish, Science and Study Hall and I really don't care anymore. We're doing skits in Spanish anyway and Physics is boring as fuck, so I think I'll live. Also, I'll go ahead and warn you in advance. I'm in the mood to squash people's feels.**

**I don't own Hetalia**

France's breakdown lasted for about a half an hour so and he fell asleep once he was done, America flinched once France fell limp into his arms. Canada pulled him carefully off his brother and grabbed him under the arm and dragged him to the nearest bedroom. America and England followed him. America looking like guilt was eating his soul. Which it was. England saw the guilt in his eyes and put a hand on his shoulder softly.

"He's going to be fine. Don't worry." He said, as he lead America after Canada carefully. America nodded and they walked into the room just as Canada was walking out.

"I think it would be best to let him sleep for a while." He said. "It's been a long time since I've seen him have a breakdown like that, he's probably tired." America looked at the opposite wall awkwardly, still feeling guilty. Canada noticed the look and sighed. "It's not your fault. It's ours." He said, looking at his brother with sad eyes.

"He's right." England said "We're the ones who drove you to this and we're going to fix this." There was a short silence before they all went their separate ways to try to find something to kill time while they were there.

Canada sent his boss a text and England emailed both his and France's bosses telling them what had happened and that they would most likely be there for quite a while. None of them wanted to leave America alone to suffer like that. None of them wanted him to ever feel that way again. After sending the text Canada spent about a half an hour playing with his phone until he realized America wasn't there. He panicked slightly. He had silently promised himself that he would never leave America on his own again until he was better and he intended to keep that promise. He put his phone away and started looking for his brother slightly frantically. He soon found the bathroom light on and the door slightly open. America was on his knees the bandages that had been around his left arm were on the floor some distance away from him he had a blade he must have hidden held against his wrist about to make another cut. Canada screamed, making America jump and the blade fell from his hand, tinkling against the tile, blood splattering in tiny little drops. He dropped down to the floor next to America and grabbed his wrist taking a close look at it. He, thankfully, had caught him early. America had only managed to make three or four cuts on the pale skin of his inner arm.

England, who heard the scream, came running. He paled upon seeing Canada on the floor next to America, grasping his arm in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He saw the bandages and the blade covered in blood. There were several tiny drops of blood as well as a little streak from where the blade had fallen from America's hand as well as bigger drops from where the blood had fallen from the cuts. England tried to swallow the lump in his throat and tried in vain to keep the tears welling in his eyes from falling down his cheeks. His attempts proved useless however, when tears began to fall down his pale face. Canada was crying also as he tried to stem the bleeding. England knelt down next to America and wrapped his arms softly around America from behind.

America seemed to open his eyes after that and felt England's tears land in his hair. He wrapped his uninjured arm around England and allowed his crying twin to bandage his arm. England pulled him closer, still crying silently. He eventually trusted him to Canada's tearful embrace as he grabbed a wet washrag and started to clean the blood off the floor. He picked up the blade, cringing in disgust before pocketing it to get rid of it later. He threw the washcloth in the dirty cloths basket and he and Canada started to lead America downstairs to the couch. Once there, America fell asleep. Canada kept rubbing his back softly, careful of the gashes there caused by the nail. A while later, Canada fell asleep as well. England ran a hand through his hair, sighing softly. Then, he saw America's diary on the table next to the couch. He knew he shouldn't read it. It was an invasion of privacy. But he couldn't help himself. He picked the diary up and flipped to the most recent page. And began reading.

_Dear diary,_

_I finished installing the microphones in the meeting building today. Now, there's nothing that can keep me from knowing what they're saying about me. I shouldn't have done it, but I have to know. After last time, I just have to know. At least now, I can just listen to the recordings instead of having to hide in closets and such to hear what they say about me. Just today I heard China and Taiwan talking about how useless I am because I can't pay back the debt yet. It hurts to hear things like that but they must be true. Why would they say things like that unless they were true? Sometimes I wonder why I even try anymore. I try so hard but no one seems to notice or, if they do, they obviously don't care. I don't eat more than once a week anymore and I go to the gym for at least four hours every day. I'm starting to turn in my paperwork early is there something else I should be doing? Is there something I'm missing? There must be, because they still aren't noticing. Or maybe it's just that I'm not making enough progress. I should start eating less and working out more. Maybe I can lose all this weight if I do that. Maybe someone will love me. I feel like I'm drowning under all this pressure. All the pressure to be perfect and all the hate. I just want to be loved. And it hurts to know that no one could love someone as useless and pathetic and stupid as I am. _(At this point, England saw old teardrops on the paper and had already lost the fight to keep his own tears under control.) _I understand why they don't love me. I don't deserve it. I never deserved it. _

_~Alfred F. Jones_

_United States of America_

England closed the book, sniffling and wiping his eyes on his sleeves. America had been in so much pain and for so long and he hadn't even noticed. He felt like such a horrible person. He had to fix this. He had to make thing right. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't. He wrapped his arms around America and Canada who had fallen asleep on each other drawing them close to him the way he used to when they were little. He would fix this.

He would fix this if it killed him.

**Like I said I felt like squashing people's feels. Hope you liked this chapter. **


	7. Chapter 7

Okay I don't like putting up notes like this and I know people don't like having to read them, so I'm going to try to keep this short. I just got done with standardized tests and I have finals soon. So, this story and my other story I haven't touched in like two months or so will have to wait a while. Hopefully, I will be able to update again in late May or early June.


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